The Eagle's Crippled Wings
by Cat in Disguise
Summary: Several weeks have past since Altair killed Al Mualim and retrieved the Piece of Eden. For the same amount of time, the new Mentor has not rested, not even when his body screamed at him, begged him for sleep. And now, he must face the consequences. Altair/Desmond
1. Chapter 1

This has been an idea of mine for quite a while, I just haven't gotten around to putting it in writing until now.

**Summary**: After neglecting his health in interest of his assassinations to further weaken the Templars, Altair falls deathly ill. The only solution anyone can see is for him to use the forbidden Piece of Eden to project his consciousness into an era that may have the cure for the illness. But the Apple has a will of its own, and it has something more planned for him.

* * *

'There are many types of sickness, each of them somehow interconnected with the others. The most common is sickness of the body. If the mind is troubled or distracted, the body is without direction and gradually destroys itself.'

A paragraph from the medical texts his master had forced him to read in the early stages of his training swam to the surface of Altair's fevered brain. At that time, it had seemed a useless bit of information, something he would never need to remember. Well, this situation proved otherwise. His musings were cut short by a nasty lurching sensation in his stomach. Swiftly, he shrank back against a haystack, retching to rid himself of the sensation. Saliva mixed with the minimal contents of his stomach splattered the wooden planks of the guard post. When the disturbance had finally calmed, he stood perfectly still for several long moments, chest heaving and sweat trickling down his face. Cursing under his breath, he began to make his way to the bureau. No doubt Malik would be eager to lecture him on the importance of health.

Several times on the way there he came across a patrol of guards. Fortunately, none of them attempted to draw him into combat, which he secretly thanked them for. Eventually, he found the bureau, but the ground level entrance was, of course, sealed. Just like any visitor to the bureau, he would have to enter through the roof. So, steeling himself, he clambered up the wall using the window ledges and iron rungs. He dropped through the grate on the roof and strode to the counter. Just as he always was, Malik was standing behind it poring over a series of old maps.

"Safety and Peace, brother." Altair scowled inwardly when he heard the heavy rasp of his words, like he had swallowed all the sand in the desert. Malik glanced up at his friend, concern flickering in his usually indifferent gaze.

"Upon you as well." He paused, looking Altair over, trying to find any abnormalities in the Master Assassin. "Are you quite all right? Somehow, you do not seem yourself . . ." Altair cursed under his breath. Was his condition truly so obvious to others?

"I am fine, Malik, no need for alarm." The rafiq still looked skeptical, for it was not common for Altair to visit Jerusalem, save for assigning informers in the city.

"Then, pray tell, what brings you here?" Hawk like golden eyes narrowed as Altair struggled to find a plausible excuse. In all honesty, his condition was what had driven him to seek out the bureau in the first place, but to reveal that would only needlessly worry Malik and the Brotherhood. He shook his head, which had begun to pound again with dizzying ferocity. As if to worsen the situation, his lungs and throat began to burn, raising the immediate instinct to cough and clear them. But, not now, because doing so would just confirm Malik's suspicions.

"Nothing particular, just an-" His words halted in his throat as he doubled over, hand clapped over his mouth as another wave of nausea slammed into him at full force. Throaty, rattling coughs ran up and down Altair's body every few seconds. A smoldering heat, like that of hot coals on flesh, blossomed within his gut, growing steadily stronger with each cough. Finally, the attack stopped, and he pulled his hand away from his lips, breath ragged. The digits splayed out in front of his eyes, and he was shocked to find them dripping with blood.

"Altair?!" This time when Malik spoke there was genuine alarm in his voice. Hazelnut met sunrise gold when Altair's gaze shot to his as the Master Assassin crumpled to the floor.

"Assign . . . ment . . ."

That final, pitiful excuse whispered from him before the world went dark.

* * *

The white matrix screen of the Animus faded from Desmond's psyche, allowing him to reenter the present. Moments after it did he lurched to his feet, ripping the door to the bathroom open and collapsing on his knees in front of the toilet, vomiting his guts out. His stomach churned and clenched, trying to rid itself of the disgusting heat within his organs. The convulsions gradually ended, but he didn't have the energy to rise from his position. Instead, he pressed his forehead to the cool porcelain bowl while his lungs fought to return air to themselves.

When Lucy had suggested they return to Altair' memories so Desmond cold 'learn' any skill Ezio had neglected to learn, he had not objected. Returning to the Syrian would be a welcome change from the Italian after such a long period of time. But, he did not foresee the impact it had when he was slammed back into his older ancestor's memories. Altair's thought patterns and beliefs were so detached from the carefree cheerfulness of the Italian, that the adjustment was, to say the least, jarring. Someone knocked on the door, which must have swung shut behind him and stepped in without waiting for a response.

"Desmond? Are you all right?" The new assassin raised his pounding head to gaze blearily at Lucy's familiar shape. He pulled himself away from the toilet only to slouch in exhaustion against the wall.

"Yeah . . . Think so . . . I just didn't expect that, is all."

"None of us did. It wasn't something that happens to assassins very commonly." Desmond blinked at her choice of words.

"What didn't? Getting sick?" A nod confirmed it.

"The immune systems of members of the Brotherhood were usually much stronger than other people. It doesn't make sense that Altair would get a condition so serious." Desmond shuddered at the memory of sharing said severe condition with his ancestor.

"Anyway, try and get some rest." The sentence barely registered in Desmond's fever-addled brain. Instead of bothering to get into his makeshift bed, he let his eyelids slide closed with the cool tile pressed against his skin.

* * *

Malik had set Altair on the mats and pillows used for a resting area just after he had collapsed, and then had hurried to send a message back to Masyaf and to his informers around the city, hoping to gather any tidbits of knowledge that may help.

For what felt like an eternity, he watched over Altair as his comrade suffered, sweat pouring down his face while he shifted restlessly from the unbearable heat enveloping his skin. Golden eyes bright with fever shifted beneath his closed eyelids, unaware of their surroundings.

A scowl marred Malik's expression as he took in the sight. The heavy white robes the Master Assassin usually wore had been discarded, leaving only a thin cotton shirt underneath. When he and removed them, his hands flinched away in shock at the sheer amount and intensity of the heat radiating of the skin. So, judging from the seriousness of the condition, the fever had been steadily growing worse over a long period of time.

"What in the world were you thinking, Altair?" Malik muttered to the man in utter exasperation. Almost in response, Altair jerked like he'd received an electric shock and then settled again, a moan of pain leaving his lips. Moments afterward he began to shiver violently, drawing his knees up to his chest. Carefully, so as to not wake the obviously-suffering man, Malik covered him with one of the many blankets lying on the floor before setting out to find a doctor.

* * *

Anyone who's ever had a fever so bad it felt as if their body was cooking from the inside knows (or should know) what a fever dream is. A nightmare, twisted and corrupted by the mental and physical state of the person experiencing it, the world of sleep, that should be welcome, becomes something terrifying. Coincidentally, Altair did not know what such thing that was, despite scolding others for lacking the same knowledge. He never bothered to make it a major priority to memorize something so insignificant. Why bother to learn something he will never need to know?

Well, each great assassin made a mistake from time to time.

The realm of Altair's dreams was something similar to the world the Apple of Eden had shown him when he had first held it for himself. Everything around him was jet-black, save for the blinding white symbols and unusual structures flashing through the air. Things were shown to him that he did not understand: a frame of wood and fabric constructed to resemble gigantic wings, a metal table with unusual devices attached to it. Nothing that should have existed, and yet it all flashed before his eyes.

And then, of course, there were voices. Muffled at first, but growing stronger. They all jumbled together, only a few choice phrases clarifying enough for him to comprehend.

* * *

'_It would drive weaker minds insane . . . "_

* * *

_'What have you done to me?'_

* * *

'_He's talking to me?'_

* * *

'_Another artifact? . . . No. You will stay here.'_

* * *

'_The rest is up to you, Desmond.'_

* * *

'_Stop, please!'_

* * *

Altair's consciousness faltered at the last sentence. The voice . . . it had sounded so desperate, so helpless, so . . . _alone._ What could make anyone sound like that? The surge of protective rage surprised him. He had never felt so strongly about someone else's well-being, even his Masters. So why, why was this boy so important to him? A boy that may not even exist. Someone who didn't even have a na- No. It - _he _\- had a name. The woman had said it herself. What had it been? Surely he could remember something from mere moments ago! And then . . .

'"_Desmond."_

The name repeated itself over and over, like a mantra, until it became something he would remember forever, regardless of whether or not it was real.

_Desmond_

_Desmond_

_Desmond_

* * *

Several hours and one long, fruitless search for a suitable healer later, Malik returned to the bureau, still fuming from an argument with a doctor who refused to treat anyone who wasn't somehow related to nobility. The still air of the late night of Jerusalem was broken only by the incoherent murmurs of Altair, who was still pressed deeply into the blankets. Malik sighed, his temper abating some as he rummaged for some cloth to wrap the ice the doctor had given him in.

He returned to Altair's side with a carefully tied cloth full of ice, which he placed on the man's forehead. As he did, he could just barely make out a word he seemed to be muttering repeatedly under his breath.

"Des . . . mond . . ." His voice, usually so indifferent and calculating, dripped in affection and, if it was even possible for the man, warmth. Whatever, or whoever, this Desmond was, it was obvious he cared for them a very great deal. So why did he never speak of them to anyone, not even the Master?

A shrill, piercing cry broke Malik out of his reverie. He turned towards the open window, where a young golden eagle perched on the sill, seeming to see right through him with its sharp gaze. He untied the note from around the birds back and read the neat scrawl of the healer in Masyaf fortress.

* * *

_Malik_

_I have received your letter and reply with utmost seriousness and prayers that all will not crumble because of what I have done. However, the loss of our Grand Master so early into his enrollment into the position would deal an even greater blow to our forces._

_You demanded I take whatever measures __necessary as long as he is cured of the illness. _

_That is what I have sent you._

_Safety and Peace be upon you._

* * *

Malik frowned again, confused by the doctor's words. Until he turned back to the eagle, which was still staring expectantly up at him. It dipped its head slightly, trying to indicate his burden was not yet lifted. Skeptically, with his heart pounding far beyond natural speed, he followed the path of the yellow irises; and gasped.

Clutched in it's talons was the Apple of Eden.

* * *

Constructive criticism is welcomed. If you think this story is worth continuing or not, please let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

For a long time, the only sound in the Sanctuary was the shuffling of papers, the quick tapping of Rebecca's fingers on the keyboard, and Desmond's labored breathing from inside the Animus. Since they didn't have any proper beds or blankets with them, Lucy had suggested he sleep in the Animus. It was better than nothing, at the very least. But that only remedied part of the problem. They had no sort of antibiotics to give the newest member of the group, and couldn't risk going into town to get some from the pharmacy. All they could do was let the fever run its course.

When her thoughts reached Desmond, Lucy glanced up worriedly from her work. He was coated in a sheen of cold sweat, but shivering violently. The vomiting had stopped, at the very least, but it was quickly replaced with gut-wrenching coughing fits that brought up blood and a thick, yellow-green mucus. Every cough sounded as if he was dying. And the way things were going for him, he would.

* * *

Malik stared in complete awe and outrage at the object that thrummed softly from within the honed talons of the eagle. This was the only solution the Brotherhood could possibly come up with?! _This _artifact? The very object that drove their former Master to insanity, that pushed the Templars and Assassins to the edge of war, and turned skilled and cunning warriors into mindless drones?!

Perhaps Altair was not the only one who still remained a novice after all this time.

The bureau leader sighed in frustration as he snatched the object from the eagle, which gave an indignant squawk at being knocked of its makeshift perch. At the moment Malik's hand brushed the smooth surface of the object, it began to pulse gently, the silver object softening until it felt as warm ad gentle as human flesh. It was resonating with something hidden within him, within everyone.

He frowned at it, pondering the impossible question it posed. The gentle purring of the Apple continued, yielding no sort of answer. Yes, it definitely responded to something, but exactly what, he had no idea. No one did. Some of the Brotherhood could activate it, some couldn't. Even the strength of the reaction varied from person to person. Most of the time, the artifact did little more than glow a bit for most people. But for those higher up, it hummed, warming under a person's palm. Very few elicited the reaction Malik did, making the object soften like it did. But with Altair . . . the reaction was several times more powerful than anyone else could, including the late master.

He sighed again, a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. Such a trivial thing should be left for those who pretended to have knowledge about the thing. There was something serious he had to attend to, after all. As if sensing his thoughts, Altair turned over in his sleep, a mild shudder running down his spine. The tension in the man's muscles had not loosened at all, which meant he was still suffering great pain.

In his hand, the Apple hummed loudly and began to glow even more powerfully. The thing was actually _responding _to the man, echoing the pain it could feel from him with comfort. The rafiq shook his head in disbelief, placing the artifact next to his comrade as he did so.

"This will mean the death of us." He muttered, just before the night around him blazed in a soft golden light.

* * *

Several hours after his initial collapse, Desmond still had not woken up from the deep slumber brought on by the fever. The entire time, Lucy worked to keep his temperature down while Shawn and Rebecca continued to fine-tune their equipment. Rebecca worked furiously at the Animus, trying to modify the code so nothing like this would happen again. She seemed to be working the hardest out of all of them, despite what Shawn may say to that statement. But, of course, it didn't mean they all didn't work hard, not at all.

Lucy sighed, walking back towards her desk for the first time in hours, rolling her aching shoulders as she went. Desmond's temperature had finally stabilized somewhat, and she really could use a rest. Plus, she didn't want to disturb him now he was sleeping so peacefully. She looked back at their youngest member and smiled fondly at the mildly peaceful expression. After all this time, she had noticed that he was either scowling or grinning like an idiot. He never wore such a relaxed expression around anyone.

A soft golden light emanated from the small chest resting in the center of the room, accompanied by a powerful humming that vibrated the entire container. Rebecca looked up in interest, approaching the box slowly, like it might explode if she moved too quickly. Shawn's gaze hadn't left his work, but his shoulders were visibly tensed. There was a ringing silence between them, while the hum carried on, echoing all throughout the safe house. It was Rebecca who finally broke the half-silence.

"The Apple is . . . reacting to something?"

"It seems so. But reacting to what?"

"Most likely Desmond." Both girls jumped as Shawn chimed in to the conversation. He had slid up next to the chest, studying the rays of light emanating from the object inside. "He and his ancestors bring the greatest reaction out of the Pieces of Eden, as far as we know, and he seems to be in some kind of distress, so it could be that."

Both girls shared a skeptical look before Rebecca glanced over at Shawn again. A challenge danced just behind the self-important glint Shawn always seemed to have in his eyes. Instead of taking up the man and his false bravado, she stalked up to the box and snapped open the two metal clasps holding the lid down.

Immediately after, the light intensified until it was like the sun had landed in the room. A high, keening ring resonated from the box, growing louder and louder until it became nearly unbearable levels. Everyone in the room clapped their hands over their ears, eyes screwed shut, as the light and sound intensified even further. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The light faded away, and the shrill keen ceased along with it. When no trace of the two elements remained except for a ringing in the temple.

Desmond shot upwards, gasping for breath and coated in sweat, eyes burning golden and staring straight ahead.

"Desmond!" Rebecca streaked to her friend's side, placing a hand on his tensed shoulders. "Are you okay?" When she asked, she began to rub soothing circles into the muscles, which he gratefully relaxed into. She repeated her question as his breathing steadied itself, sand he nodded slowly, but his eyes remained an eerie golden luster.

"My room . . ." He whispered, just barely audible over the echoes throughout the gigantic chamber.

"What?" That seemed to snap him out of his stupor. He blinked several times over until his eyes returned to normal, and he turned to face Rebecca. An almost trancelike concentration still glazed his pupils.

"In my room . . ." Lucy's eyes met Rebecca's for a split second before the both of them sprinted into the room closed off for the team's newest member. Both gasped in shock at the sight that greeted them.

Lying feet from the bed was the motionless form of Altair Ibn-La'Ahad.

* * *

Holy fucking shit crud bitch. This is one of the worst chapters of any story I've written so far. I am so sorry for this. But I know you guys were eager for a new chapter so I tried to get it out as fast as I could. Once again, I am so so sorry for this, I'll try to do better in the future. Anyway, thanks to any of you who suffered through this chapter for me! Until next time, buh bye!


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: This is NOT an update, it's a rewrite of chapter two since I felt legitimately ashamed of that chapter in terms of how it was written. Sorry for the long update time, but I'll try to be better in the future.**

* * *

For a long time, the only sound in the hideout was the shuffling of papers, the quick tapping of Rebecca's fingers on the keyboard, and Desmond's labored breathing from the Animus. Since they didn't have any proper beds or blankets with them, Lucy had suggested he sleep in the Animus. It was better than nothing, at the very least. Warmth emanating from the But that only remedied part of the problem. They had no sort of antibiotics to give the newest member of the group, and couldn't risk going into town to get some from the pharmacy. All they could do was let the fever run its course.

When her thoughts reached Desmond, Lucy glanced up worriedly from her work. He was coated in a sheen of cold sweat, but shivering violently. The vomiting had stopped, at the very least, but it was quickly replaced with gut-wrenching coughing fits that brought up blood and a thick, yellow-green mucus. Every cough sounded as if he was dying. And the way things were going for him, he would.

* * *

Malik stared in complete awe and outrage at the object that thrummed softly from within the honed talons of the eagle. This was the only solution the Brotherhood could possibly come up with?! _This _artifact? The very object that drove their former Master to insanity, that pushed the Templars and Assassins to the edge of war, and turned skilled and cunning warriors into mindless drones?!

Perhaps Altair was not the only one who still remained a novice after all this time.

The bureau leader growled in frustration as he snatched the object from the eagle, which gave an indignant squawk at being knocked of its makeshift perch. At the moment Malik's hand brushed the smooth surface of the object, it began to pulse gently, the silver object's very molecular structure seeming to shift unlike the surface felt as warm and soft as human flesh.

He frowned at it, pondering the impossible question the object posed. The gentle purring of the Apple continued, yielding no sort of answer. Yes, it definitely responded to something, but exactly what, he had no idea. No one did. Very few of the Brotherhood could activate it, in fact most could not. And even the strength of the reaction varied among the meager group it 'awoke' for. Most of the time, the artifact did little more than glow a bit for most people. But for those who had refined their skills in the Brotherhood for a number of years, it hummed, warming under that person's palm. Very few elicited the reaction Malik did, the Apple refusing to relinquish it's cold surface. But with Altair . . . the reaction was several times more powerful than anyone else could conjure, including the late master.

He sighed again, a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. Such a trivial thing should be left for those who pretended to have knowledge about the thing. There was something serious he had to attend to, after all. As if sensing his thoughts, Altair turned over in his sleep, a mild shudder running down his spine. The tension in the man's muscles had not loosened at all, which meant he was still suffering great pain.

In his hand, the Apple hummed loudly and began to glow even more powerfully. The thing was somehow _resonating_, echoing the pain it could somehow sense from Altair with artificially generated comfort. The rafiq shook his head in disbelief, placing the artifact next to his comrade as he did so.

"This will mean the death of us." He muttered, watching as the soft golden light grew steadily brighter. Eventually, it grew to the point where he couldn't keep his eyes on the artifact anymore. The light emanating from it had neared blinding levels. As the light increased, the steady hum slowly became a high-pitched, keening wail. In only a few seconds, the sound reached the same unbearable level of the light. Something warm trickled down the side of his face from his ear, and he realized they had actually begun bleeding. Just as the sound neared levels that threatened to rupture his eardrums, both the sound and the light abruptly cut off.

Hesitantly, his eyes opened, blinking rapidly to rid his vision of the black spots dancing within it. The only remainder of the wail came in the form of a dull ringing. He raised his hand tentatively to his still-bleeding eardrum, relieved to see there wasn't nearly as much as he'd originally feared. Now irritated with the artifact, he wiped at the thin stream of blood and turned to glare accusingly at the Apple, which now lay innocently on the floor next to . . . a heap of empty blankets and pillows. Somehow, without any explanation or reasoning, Altair had vanished.

* * *

Rebecca should have known something bizarre was going to happen when Desmond began to squirm. For the last several hours since he'd first fallen asleep in the Animus, he'd not so much as twitched a muscle. The unexpected illness had leeched the energy from the young assassin's limbs, allowing him to sleep in an almost comatose state. Nothing anyone in the group did could stir their youngest member, so they just let him be, allowing him to recover his strength.

The tech genius of the group paused in her work when she heard a low murmur from Desmond. A long pause followed the soft noise, but her fingers still only hovered hesitantly over her keyboard. If Desmond had finally begun to wake up, she would have to get him to a proper place to sleep and maybe get some form of medication. Just as those thoughts crossed her mind, the young man began to mumble again in the same groggy, disoriented voice. As she listened, his voice increased in volume, becoming almost panicked.

"N-no . . . I . . . can't help . . . what can I . . ." Without warning, Desmond went rigid, a scream tearing from his throat. At the same moment, the Apple of Eden began to pulse and keen with a combination of blinding light and an unbearable, keening wail. Rebecca nearly fell off her chair at the sudden onslaught, screwing her eyes shut and clapping her hands over her ears. She was vaguely aware of someone stumbling into the room, their presence moving closer towards her with every passing moment. Finally, a hand rested on her shoulder, shaking it lightly, and it wasn't until she heard her own name that she realized the wail had ceased.

"You okay?" She nodded, ears still ringing distantly like the bell on the collar of a cat.

Still wary, she lowered her hands from her ears, and blinked her eyes open, grateful for the absence of the glaring brightness. Looking next to her she confined that it had been Shaun who had staggered blindly into the room to assist her. Her legs ached from crouching on the floor for so long, so she straightened, wincing. Shaun followed suit, both of them staring at the Apple lying innocently on the desk.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Rebecca shook her head, still mildly disoriented, eyes automatically traveling to the near-comatose assassin in the Animus. She sighed in a mixture of relief and astonishment when he murmured something incomprehensible and shifted onto his side, expression resembling something along the lines of irritation or confusion. Cautiously, she approached the artifact, pondering it from every angle. After several moments of careful observation, she looked up to consult the other conscious assassin.

"Hey, Sha-" She stopped mid sentence, eyes falling once again on Desmond. Once again she paused in her actions, waiting for something else to happen. A moment later, Desmond rolled onto his side and blinked his eyes open, the golden undertones brightened dramatically, gaze fixed on the doorway. Rebecca followed his line of sight, her own eyes widening in shock.

"That's . . . impossible . . . how did . . . "

The Master Assassin Altair Ibn-La'Ahad was slumped against what remained of the frame, sweat trickling down his face, one eye sealed shut while the other glared distrustfully at the three in the room. He rose halfway to his feet, but immediately slumped to the floor again, retching and clutching at his throat. When the fit finally subsided, he brought his gaze, which was now much less focused, back to them.

"_Where . . . am I . . . ?" _His voice rasped horribly, like long nails against a rusty pipe, and it was obvious that it caused him pain to speak.

"_Who . . . are . . . " _The question died on his lips as his eyes rolled into his skull, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

**Duh-duh-DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHH! New-ish chapter is up! I'm so very very very sorry it took so long for me to update this, but I had some MAJOR writers block because of this story. So please forgive my very limited imagination.**

**Anyway, ACTUAL new chapter should be up fairly soon, but be patient with me with that too. Thanks for supporting this story regardless, and please bear with my stupidity. Bye!**


	4. Chapter 4

**New chapter is up! I know it's been forever please don't hate me! Apparently I have a life that I had to pay attention to, so yeah. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the next installment! As usual, I don't own anything except the storyline.**

* * *

"What the hell - "

" How did . . . what is this?!"

"How did this happen?! How could he possibly be here?! Nearly one thousand years after his supposed death?!" Shaun had knelt at the Master Assassin's side, pressing two fingers to his throat fora pulse. He pulled his hand away just as quickly when he felt the heat radiating off the skin. Drawing in a steadying breath, he rose again and turned to face the others of the group. Rebecca had seated herself back at her computer while Lucy watched over her shoulder. Either in shock or still feeling the effects of his sickness, Desmond was perched on the edge of the Animus.

"Well? What's the verdict?" Rebecca's voice was calm, but confusion and fear laced her words. It was clear she was freaked out by the whole thing.

"Sorry, but yeah, he's real. He has a stable pulse but has a fever that's through the roof. It's either sickness or from an infected wound. And judging from the state of his clothing, it's provably the former." For a few minutes, no one spoke., allowing the shock of the reality of their situation sinking in. Finally, Rebecca pushed away from her desk and started towards the case of medical supplies. She rummaged through them in silence until she withdrew a packet of stitches, antiseptic, bandages, and a cloth.

"Help me move him." Shaun said nothing as he and the technician shifted the motionless form of Altair into an empty cot. Both of them winced at the heat that could be felt through the fabric of the robes. Desmond watched as Rebecca fumbled with the fastenings of the clothing for a few moments, a sort of amused pity accompanying the sight. With a heavy sigh, he hauled himself over to the black-haired woman.

"Here," he moved his hands over hers, dragging them gently away from the robe. "I got it." The robe loosened easily, and he slid it down the man's torso. Both of them drew in a sharp breath.

A long, deep gash ran from his ribs to the edge of his his, the wound from either an axe or a broadsword. Various other cuts and bruises littered the skin. All the area around and in the large cut was red, inflamed with a long-untreated infection. Blood, pus, and another unknown substance caked almost every inch of the skin.

"Well, I think we know now that's it's definitely infection, and where it came from." Sighing, Rebecca soaked the cloth in the antiseptic, rubbing the wounds carefully.

"Yeuch." She wrinkled her nose in disgust as the pus liquidated again and began to run. "Is this what infected stuff smells like?" Desmond shrugged, his own torso aching as Rebecca pressed the cloth down a bit harder.

Eventually, the amount of pus being drained lessened, until almost nothing ran out of the wound.

"Throw this away for me, will you?" The rookie assassin wrinkled his nose, but didn't protest. Rebecca smeared a line of antiseptic ointment across the gash, wrapping the still-unconscious man's chest with bandages.

"Okay! I did it!" Rebecca stood, wiping her face with her sleeve and making sure to keep her hands clear of anything on or around her. "That was disgusting. But with any luck it'll heal as naturally as possible with all the funk gone, and he'll just sweat the rest of the sickness out. Oh, and Shaun, next time an ancient assassin warps into our hideout through impossible means, you get to play nurse!"

"I'm no doctor, you know that!"

"Whatever, Mr. Excuses!" Shaun returned to Altair's side, scrutinizing the features of the Master Assassin. Almost everything was a near mirror image of Desmond's face, done to the scar on the corner of his mouth.

"Now the big question." He murmured just loud enough to hear over the sound of running water as Rebecca washed her hands. The technician switched off the water just as Shaun turned around, droplets of water and soap dripping to the ground.

"How did he get here?"

No one had time to respond, because at that moment, a pair of hawklike golden eyes snapped open, immediately finding the former bartender standing a few feet away. And then, a name left the cracked lips.

"Des . . . mond."

* * *

**Aaand cliffhanger! I'm so sorry to do that to you after making you wait so long! New chapter will hopefully be up sooner. Review, like, all that good stuff. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

_I found him._

That one thought flooded through him just before his body gave out and he crumpled into a heap on the ground. For a few more heartbeats, he was aware of muffled sounds and movement before everything finally faded to black.

* * *

_When he next opened his eyes, he sat in the center of a burning forest. The flames leaped across the sky, tearing at the inky blackness of the night sky, making his feathers itch from the heat. _

_Wait, feathers?_

_He looked properly down at himself. Tawny feathers covered him, powerfully taloned feet gripping the soil beneath them. An eagle. He couldn't decide whether it was poetic or strange. A still-burning branch crashed to the ground next to him, startling him into taking off. He wove his way through the blazing trees, seeking out any means of escaping the raging flames. No such opportunity presented itself. All around him, things were being turned to ash and collapsing into clouds of dust and earth. He drove himself faster, crashing through the brittle forest. _

_Eventually, he reached an area the flames had not yet devoured. Believing the worst had passed, he slowed, his wings quivering with exhaustion. But he kept going. He had to. For a moment he paused, pondering over the sole instinct driving him forward. Why? Why did he have to keep going when his very core screamed for him to stop? Why must he continue when his body threatened to tear itself apart?_

_A dark shape, at least twice his current size, dove towards him with an angry screech, its razor like talons ripping at his back and wings. Clumps of blood, flesh, and feathers rained to the ground. And then he knew nothing but pain. _

_He screamed, the eagle's shrill cry melding into his own cries of agony until they became one voice. As the enormous bird tore at his wings, another shot up out of the darkness and began to rake its talons repeatedly down his torso._

_The eagle's cries vanished, completely swallowed up by his own screams. His wings halted as he drew them closer to himself. Moments later, he collided with the ground, a sharp cry of pain wrenched from his throat. The large birds screeched in what almost seemed to be laughter before vanishing back into the forest._

_Pain burned in every limb, every drop of his blood. The wounds on his wings and chest were still sluggishly oozing blood onto the earth around him. Every muscle was paralyzed with agony, only light tremors running through him every now and then. A rush of heat from somewhere behind him signaled that the fire had finally caught up to him._

_But he couldn't fly away. He was too weak . . . too tired . . . _

_Curling into himself as best he could, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut as the raging flames swallowed him whole._

* * *

**I'm really really really really really sorry I haven't updated this in . . . how long has it been now? A year? I don't know. But I just didn't know how to really follow chapter one. Eventually I came up with this fever dream thing that is NOT SYMBOLIC IN THE SLIGHTEST *cough cough* **

**I'm hoping to update again soon. Hoping.**

**Again, really sorry for the delay, and provide some useful feedback for me!**


	6. Chapter 6

Sometimes, Desmond _really _hated being the descendant of the leader of the Assassin Brotherhood. You know, if the fact that he had become a prisoner of an ancient war he hadn't known existed and put in a machine that forced him to relive the memories of his ancestors that were slowly driving him insane hadn't tipped anyone off just yet.

His head throbbed painfully again, clashing with the nausea that still writhed in his stomach. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and laid his hand over his forehead. It still burned with a fever that wasn't his. Pain from wounds that weren't there kept him conscious against his will, the poisonous effects of infection racing through his blood. Fatigue, despair, pain, humiliation, all built upon one another in his mind, bringing frustrated tears to his eyes.

For the next lifetime, he stared fixedly at the ceiling. Exhaustion eventually won out over the burn of phantom wounds, eyes sliding shut at long last.

* * *

_When his eyes opened again, he stood in a place that resembled the purgatory-like landscape he could see in the Animus as another memory loaded from . . . wherever. The air pulsed with a pale crimson color, the same shade that appeared whenever he desynchronized. Though this time, he could hear a heartbeat each time the color flared again. _

_'Geez, even my dreams are beyond fucked at this point,' He thought bleakly, startling a bit as the words echoed back into his ears. 'Oh, wait. This is my head, so of course I can hear my thoughts.' _

_Footsteps, boots of some kind from the sound of it, started just over his shoulder. Desmond whipped around, scanning the bleak landscape around him, only to discover nothing. Still, he didn't relax completely, even as another wave of exhaustion swept through his mind. _

_'Of course I'm still tired, my mind is still awake.' Yawning, he folded his legs underneath him before lying on his side, not questioning the warm, cushioned feeling that had manifested around him. 'Almost like a bed of clouds.' He hummed drowsily, yawning hugely again. Snuggling closer to the warmth, he allowed his breathing to slow as his mind drew closer to deep sleep._

_'**Desmond.'**_

_Goddammit. _

_With a groan of irritation and confusion, the young assassin hauled himself into a cross-legged position, vision blurry with the promise of sleep that had just been stolen away. _

_'If Shaun just tried to wake me up, I will stab him in the dick.' Thoughts of vengeance upon the British computer snob vanished the moment he focused in on the thing - or rather, the _person - _seated in front of_ him.

_'**Greetings.' **_

* * *

_The boy in front of him blinked owlishly, obviously still rousing himself from the momentary haze of sleep. After a few moments, his eyes widened in recognition, and he made an odd sound somewhere between a yelp and a squeak. _

_'What the hell?!' Altair's lips twitched upwards slightly at the flustered tone._

**_'I do apologize for startling you.'_**_ The youth kept muttering a string of curses in his native tongue, exhaustion rapidly becoming shock. After several more moments, the younger calmed down a bit, confused awe now taking the place of the surprise. _

_**'Did I truly surprise you that much?' **Desmond jumped a bit at the sound of his voice. _

_'Well, kinda-" He __paused when Altair tilted his head at his birth tongue. **'I-I mean, kinda. How . . . why are you . . ?'**_

_**'Here? In your time, within your mind?' **Desmond nodded._

**_'Well, unfortunately, its much less extravagant than you are probably imagining. The Apple brought me here. It is just that simple.' _**_Desmond blinked again, drowsiness finally clearing away. _

**_'What . . . exactly . . . does that mean? I mean, I understand the artifacts have weird powers, but how did it bring you _here_?'_**

**_'That, I am not sure. There is still much about the Apple that is unknown. All I can really do at this moment is speculate.' _**_His ancestor moved so their sitting postures were mirrored, a slight frown flickering across his face._

**_'Is the Apple . . . doing this . . . too?' _**_Desmond motioned between himself and Altair, who only shrugged in response._

**_'I'm assuming so, yes. But the Apple is not the reason I wished to speak to you. It is another matter entirely.' _**_His tone had shifted, eyes darkening._

_**'The Apple brought me here of its own fruition, but it did have a purpose. As you may have already assumed, I am currently suffering from a sickness that will assuredly kill me if nothing is done to alleviate it.' **Desmond could do nothing but blink at that statement. He of all people knew Altair could be blunt about things, but this . . . jeezus. _

**_'And . . . the Apple sent you here to get help for the, uh, 'sickness?' _**

**_'To put it very simply, yes. Though, the Apple sent me here without my consent. I believe Malik is to blame for using the Artifact. Still, I believe his intentions were not to do any harm.' _**_Suddenly, he winced, pressing the heel of his hand down towards the dull burn he felt beginning to blossom there. _

_**'It appears I can only appear in this state for so long, so this place will dissolve soon.' **Even as he spoke, the limbo-like setting began to evaporate into oblivion, and his outline grew dimmer with each passing moment._

**_'Though, there is one thing I wish to do before I am forced from this place back into my own body.' _**_In the next instant, before Desmond the Master Assassin leaned forward and pressed his lips against those of the youth. He pulled away after only a few heartbeats, the same stoic expression still in place, before his form flickered and vanished._

_For several moments afterwards, Desmond sat there, hand covering his lips, still processions what had just happened._

_'What the fuck?'_

* * *

**for the love of everything that is sacred to me and everything else! I need to learn what soon means. It's been sooooooo long since I updated this, and all y'all probably thought I'd been stabbed or something. But no! I was just being lazy, and forgot to update. That, and I was just drawing a blank as to where to go from the last chapter. I swear, I will try to get out updates quicker from now on, but there's no guarantees, so don't hold me to that.**

**As always, constructive criticism is welcomed, none of that screaming into a void thing. **

**(I love you all plz don't hate me)**


	7. Author's Note

Um. Hi. Okay, first thing's first: no, I am not dead. And I'm sorry for the _severe _delay for updates to stories lately, but I do have an explanation. I am suffering from acute writer's block. I haven't even been able to write anything for fun in my spare time, it's just that bad. So, thank you for being patient with me, I swear I will try to get another update out soon, just give me a little more time. Again, I'm really sorry for the delay. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with this story for so long. I'll see you all soon.

\- The Writer


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